Sauron's Mistress, Mythwin's Revenge
by Robertjfluegel
Summary: As the people of Middle Earth celebrate their heroes' victory, Mythwin, a seemingly innocent bystander, watches, waits. Plots her revenge. This is the aftermath of the War of the Ring, told through the most unlikely of perspectives: our favorite heroes' worst foe yet.
1. Chapter 1

In her head she could hear him, a whisper, yet with the power of thunder. "The mountain," was all he could say. She had heard him distressed, she had heard him worry, but this was new. Never before had she heard fear. The greatest being to ever walk Middle Earth. What could he fear? They had laughed together when the little ragtag army camped outside the black gate, thinking their victory on the fields of Pelennor meant something. He had predicted it. In the glow of battle and possessing the one ring they would believe the war was won and come to finish the deed.

She wanted to be there with him to watch the end. Without their new king and more importantly the grey rider, they would be bereft of leadership and ripe for the plucking. None would survive the battle. The only word of their defeat would be the endless armies of orcs and men assembled on the plains of Gorgoroth.

But something had changed. Just as the battle turned in their favor a cry went up. Sauron took his all seeing gaze from the battle to the mountain. "The mountain," he said again. There was the real danger. It had been a ruse, an elaborate diversion to allow the true ring bearer to claim power at the place where the ring was forged. They certainly would not destroy it. No being would cast aside such power willingly.

Mythwin wiped her eyes as tears streamed down her cheeks unchecked. Riding high in the sky on her mount always had that effect on her. She looked down on the smoke and stench of Mordor. This is what he wanted for all of Middle Earth. To destroy the work of the Valar, every last tree, every last blade of grass. To show them that their vision was foolishness, their rejection of him fatal. She wanted that for him. She wanted everything he wanted. To call it love was naïve. She didn't believe in love. They were simply a part of each other. A part he had hid from the world to protect her. Was that an act of affection? She supposed she could call it that. She didn't need to define what they were, they just were.

Mythwin shook her thoughts clear, focusing on the mountain. It was all that mattered. The ring! To search for hundreds of years for it and now to know exactly right where it was. There in Mordor in the very mountain where it was spawned. She had but to find the one who held it and Sauron would rule the ages of Middle Earth forever. Not even the Valar would dare oppose him. Eru himself would cower in fear before the great Sauron. They would watch in sorrow as he destroyed everything they had built. Destroyed and enslaved every one they cared about. The thought gave her chills.

Her magnificent fellbeast bellowed from the exertion of flying top speed. She didn't mind its stench, she quite enjoyed it. Sauron had given her the best of the flying creatures. She had never bothered naming it. She wasn't sentimental like that. It was a tool and nothing more. But that didn't mean she didn't appreciate that tool. Right now she needed that tool to complete their victory. The nine were too far away. She would be their only hope.

As she flew Mythwin witnessed a site that nearly stopped her heart. Through the smoke and cover over the skies of Mordor a single ray of sunlight shown through, lighting the dimness with a light not seen in Mordor since the days when Sauron overcame it and made the land his own. Was it an omen? If so it was of the worst kind.

Mythwin urged her mount forward. She knew it was flying with every ounce of strength it had, but she needed more. Her mount strained, somehow eclipsing its previous pace. The mountain was close now, close enough to see the door to Sammath Naur, the forge of Sauron. She had been there with him when he forged the ring in secret. watching as he poured his knowledge and skill into the tool that would allow him to rule Middle Earth forever. How long had it been since?

Her mount couldn't take her straight to the door, she would have to dismount and hike several hundred feet straight up Mount Doom. Mythwin leapt from the beast, giving instructions to stay nearby for the return flight to the black tower. A return that would hopefully end with her in possession of the one ring. Would the return of the ring allow Sauron to take physical shape again? Would he be able to hold her again? The thought sent a thrill through her, giving her legs extra strength as she climbed. She could see the door just ahead. She had no idea what she would find inside that doorway. Probably an elven prince or some straggly king of men, claiming for his own what could never be his.

The smell of sulphur and rot filled the air, raking her lungs as she heaved with effort. Her legs were heavy with years, no centuries of not exerting herself. Her muscles were weak, her lungs burned. She should have trained more over the years. But victory had always seemed a foregone conclusion. Even Sauron didn't see this. Everything they had planned hinging on her ability to reach forge of Sauron before it was too late. Mythwin wiped black dust from her eyes, willing her legs to work just a little longer. The doorway was less than a hundred steps now.

"Mythwin, save it" she heard in her mind. Only Sauron could communicate with her in this way and yet that voice sounded nothing like him. She didn't believe it possible of the Ruler of All, the King of Men, the Dark Lord of Middle Earth, he was terrified.

Mythwin meant to leap the final few lengths to the door but she couldn't move. A sudden dread filled her, like the fate of Middle Earth itself hung upon a precipice and all she could do was watch. The hour of fate had arrived. She was too late.

"They did not mean to wield it, they have destroyed my precious." She heard as a final wail in her mind. Then with a suddenness that took all her strength, Sauron's will was withdrawn, that force that gave her power was no more. Across the plains she looked back at the Black Tower. She could see the eye, writhing in pain. Sauron suffered, as never before. She knew in her heart, he was dying and yet, she could do nothing but watch.

The light of his eye faded, then shrunk and was gone, yet she didn't move. The black tower crumbled, falling to the dust from which it was spawned. She watched, yet she didn't move. The Black gate fell next, it's majesty thrown down in seconds. She had been there through the years it had taken to build and yet it was gone in seconds, yet she didn't move. Suddenly, behind her, the mountain exploded. The ground shook, flame from many cracks reached up to the very heavens all around her and then she did move. She could no longer see the doorway to the cracks of doom. Flame and rock hindered her view. Her will was broken. Her very life no longer had meaning. She would perish there on Mount Doom and perhaps someplace in the after find Sauron again and spend the eternities with him. Mythwin made her choice, waiting for the end. Would it be the flaming pitch hurling about her? Or perhaps she would be swallowed up in the rents that spidered up the mountainside. Smoke and ash filled her lungs, causing her to hack and cough despite herself.

She had always been immune to the poisons in the air of Mordor, but this was different. Even one as powerful as her would succumb. "I am coming, my heart." Mythwin uttered into the abyss, knowing Sauron was past hearing. There was only one way to join him now and Mythwin knew all she had to do was wait. She opened her arms and threw her head back to the sky.

Then voices, a cry from behind. She didn't believe it. The Gods were playing one final trick. Mythwin returned to her vigil, waiting for the end, until she heard them again, this time unmistakable. Voices crying out and the sound of bare feet flapping on stone.

Mythwin turned and just caught site of two pitiful creatures emerging from the door to the cracks of doom. She saw them leap for a rock as liquid fire oozed from the opening behind them. The ground shook, sending her and them to their knees. The little creatures recovered, running right past her, unaware that she watched them from above on a large stone. She could have them right then if she wanted, but she couldn't move. She watched them run, not understanding what she saw. These were not kings of men or elven princelings. The entire fate of Middle Earth had been left in the hands of two children. Their grey cloaks rustled behind them as they ran, holding hands like playmates. Their shrill voices reached her ears as they were cut off by a river of magma belching forth from the dying mountain.

She watched as they climbed a rock not more than a hundred feet away, reaching the tip to keep as high from the flowing death around them as possible. But it was all for naught. She and they were dead. The flows were rising, hers and their perch would not be enough. Soon they would die the same death, destroyed as the one ring, by the river of fire. "They will die," Mythwin said out loud. Sauron could not hear her, but she wanted him to know anyway. Perhaps he was still there at the gates to Mandos, waiting for her. Perhaps they could seek their revenge in the eternities.

She watched the two closely, one of them was clearly hurt, his hand was wrapped in a torn cloth, with blood flowing freely. The other child wrapped his companion in his cloak and cradled him, no doubt waiting for the final moment. Mythwin watched, hoping to see that moment before hers came. She could not reach them now, she could only wait for the fates. She hoped it would come by fire, before the fumes overcame them. She wanted to watch their agony.

The flow continued to rise. Mythwin inched a little higher, wanting to last just the few minutes more it would take to witness their end. The small stone where the children lay was nearly engulfed now, it was just a matter of moments and they would die and then so could she. Sweat poured into Mythwin's eyes from the heat all around her. She could barely take a breath, there was simply too little air to breath. She panted, wretching as the fumes overcame her. Through the smoke she looked at the rock, hoping in her final agonizing moment to see their suffering, but what she saw instead made her gasp. Above the two children giant eagles swooped in, gently lifting one then the other child in their claws. With a mighty beat of wings the eagles were gone, taking with them her final mercy in life. Her misery was complete, even her rightful vengeance had been taken. As Mythwin breathed what she knew were her final breaths, she cried out in agony, cried out a curse upon all those who had taken from her everything she had ever wanted.

As she watched the Eagles fly away Mythwin allowed her despair to overcome her. All was lost. All that was left was for death to overcome her. She did not fear the pain. She welcomed it. A blast rent the mountainside close by, sending flaming magma high into the air. She watched it fly far above her, knowing when it landed her end would come. She lay back her head, closing her eyes as she slipped into blessed unconsciousness. For a brief moment she felt the sensation of talons grasping her, taking her high into the air like the childlings. Had an eagle come for her too? Was this what dying felt like? She cared not, for all was lost.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note:

 **This second chapter begins to set the tone for the struggle ahead. it also gives a different perspective on Gandalf from the enemy's POV and fills in a little of what happens before Sam and Frodo wake up in Ithilien. Hope you like it.**

Mythwin floated through time, dreaming of her first meeting with Sauron the Great. He was not called Sauron then. His name was Mairon. He was of the Maia, strong and dedicated to order. She could recall the first time she saw him, there at his forge, great muscles heaving as he helped to craft items of wonder and power. It had been so long ago, she didn't remember why she fell so hard. He was certainly a handsome man, but she'd never cared for outer beauty, her own or any others. It was Mairon's spirit that won her heart. His shining eyes, piercing through every pretense, every barrier, looking deep into her soul and seeing what she laid bare for no one. She loved him, yes she could admit that now that he was gone, she loved Mairon.

"But he is gone," the thought shocked her to consciousness. The wind swept her hair behind in a dark morass of curls. Her pale skin seemed paler. "Am I dead?" she asked, a faint glimmer of hope as she focused her vision. Is my Mairon here somewhere? The thought brought her to, fully awake now. The ground far below whisked by, like the scroll of an artist, flashing scene after scene of drab fields of decay, barren rocks and desolating brown and yellow tundra. She blinked her eyes, getting them used to the rush of wind buffeting her face. She was used to riding her fellbeast at great heights and at great speed. She adjusted quickly.

Mythwin twisted her shape, trying to see what held her. Great talons gripped her tighter, squeezing with terrible force. For a brief moment she panicked. Was she a captive of the accursed eagles? She shook her head, the beast didn't smell like an eagle or any other living beast on Middle Earth. After a moment of confusion came recognition, she didn't need to look up to confirm, it was her faithful fellbeast. She was alive and it had saved her. Perhaps the creature did deserve a name.

Mythwin wasn't sure if she should be grateful or not though. She wanted to be with her love. Yet she was glad to be alive. All their plans were in tatters now. The Black Tower was no more, the ring destroyed, Sauron would never return. What a mistake it had been to create the accursed ring at all. To pour his power into it. It gave him strength, but in the end made him vulnerable like nothing else ever could. Sauron's Bane she would name the ring, for it truly was his downfall.

Mythwin closed her eyes, letting tears flow. She had not cried in centuries, but she wept now as if making up for time. When the tears would no longer come Mythwin allowed herself to calm, a small sob now and then the only evidence of her suffering. She still lived, and as long as she lived, so did Sauron through her. Perhaps there was even a way to bring him back. He had died before.

Her fellbeast bellowed, straining to push its pace. Where was it taking her? She looked up, peering forward against the rush of wind. The rising sun made it almost impossible to see, but she thought she caught a glimpse of eagles wings many fathoms ahead. Could it be true? Had her steed followed the very eagles who held the two children in their wicked talons? She wanted to call down lightning, release her power on their fragile wings, but her power wouldn't come. With Sauron gone she had nothing. She might as well have been a mortal.

The fellbeast suddenly slowed, then dived for a stand of trees far below. "Don't stop!" she shouted up at the creature. "Take me to them so that I might exact my revenge." With her farsight she could see the two children nestled in the talons of two great eagles and there on the back of the largest, his white hair blowing in the wind was the object of all her hatred, Gandalf the Grey. She wanted him right then, she cared not for her own life, the grey pilgrim must die. Preferably a horrible death drawn out over years of torture, but barring that, a quick death by her hand.

"Hold your pace!" She cried to her fellbeast, but the creature continued to slow, heading for a copse of trees rushing up to meet them. She was about to release an epitaph of curses at the creature when, looking forward, she noticed that the eagles too were slowing, circling down toward earth. If her beast hadn't acted, they would have been seen.

The beast hovered just above the ground, releasing her gently to the earth before setting down just next to her. She watched the creature as it watched her. Fellbeasts were never known for their loyalty, they did not love their masters, they were beaten into submission by them. At best it could be said they had a grudging respect for their rider. This fellbeast had shown what could almost be considered a tenderness towards her. She stared into the eyes of the beast. Something had changed. Her mind tried to puzzle it out, but not too long. She had a mission to perform now. The secrets of fellbeasts would have to wait for another day. Before leaving she did pause for a brief instant.

"Thank you," was all she said but looking up at her beast she almost thought it smiled at her. Considering its teeth and serpentlike appearance it looked more like a snarl than a smile but nevertheless it was a smile. Mythwin took a staggering step back. Something had definitely changed. "Stay here," she commanded. The beast nodded its long head and crashed to the ground, curling up its wings around it to rest.

As Mythwin crept through the trees in the direction of the landing spot for the still circling eagles she put all thoughts of fellbeasts out of her mind. She was on a mission now, in her element, on the hunt. Her prey would be landing just ahead soon. She had just a few minutes to surprise them. Gandalf would die first, then the children would suffer. Oh how they would howl for destroying Sauron's bane.

Mythwin could move at very fast speeds when she wished, so she moved from cover of tree to tree, spanning several miles in less than minutes. She stopped underneath a large oak, with new shoots of leaves sprouting on all of its once dead branches. Nature itself seemed to be celebrating the fall of Sauron.

From underneath the oak Mythwin spied a sight that made her heart sink. An encampment, as large as the army that had attacked the black gate waited for the descending eagles. A curious flag flew from the topmost pole in the center. Black with a silver winged crown over a white tree with five white stars. It fluttered in the wind majestically. She'd heard the reports from the few captains who had returned from the disaster on the fields of Pelennor that the king had come unlooked for from the south on the fleet of Umbar. But to see it up close, flying majestically in the wind gave her goose bumps. She wished she could set it aflame right then, but her mystical powers had died with Sauron. She needed to keep her temper in check. Patience was her greatest ally now. Her revenge would not come swiftly, but that would make it all the more sweet.

The eagles were almost on the ground now and a great crowd gathered in the center of camp, waiting for their arrival. Even the guards had left their posts to await the arrival of their heroes. Mythwin used this to her advantage, slipping into the camp, eventually mingling with the crowd as they cheered the arrival of the children and the grey rider.

A great roar erupted from the crowd as the eagles set one then the other of the children down. They were both unconscious, gaunt and looked near death. One had an obvious wound on his hand, hastily bandaged but still dropping now and then a bit of blood. They were dirty, their skins burned from too much sun. They were a filthy mess and yet the crowd cheered. Mythwin pushed through, inching closer. She wanted to see these heroes of men. Perhaps she could discover what power they had to walk through Mordor right up to the forge of Sammath Naur and destroy Sauron's Bane. How did they escape its allure? Mairon had placed a powerful protection upon the ring. It would not allow a weak minded child to cast it into the fiery abyss. What special quality allowed these children to do the impossible?

As Mythwin inched forward the crowd cheered anew as Gandalf the Grey leaped from the back of an eagle to the ground, but this was not Gandlaf the grey, this was Gandalf the White. The glory of his visage hurt her eyes, shining a light into her soul that burned with more than the sun. This light exposed her for what she was, an agent of darkness and evil. Mythwin recoiled in fear. She could not hope to slay the wizard on her own. His glory would burn her before she closed within a dozen steps.

The light of the white wizard only seemed to effect her. The crowd surged forward, eager to touch the him and bask in his brightness. The wizard shook off the adoration and gently lifted the injured child into his arms, cradling him like a babe, while instructing a guard to do the same with the other. In an instant they were whisked away into the largest tent in the camp. Away from the crowd, away from Mythwin and her dark designs.


	3. Chapter 3

**After a brief vacation I am back. This is a further glimpse into the mind of Mythwin as she prepares to exact her revenge on Frodo and Sam and any who helped them. Hope you like it.**

Mythwin wandered through camp, watching the celebrations continue. Day and night great feasts were enjoyed while bards told stories of the war of the ring. One in particular caught her ear as she moved from crowd to crowd, trying to look inconspicuous.

"The Tale of Mairon the Moron," he began before pausing long enough to let the joke sink in. The man was dressed in bright blue leggings matching his coat and ridiculous yellow shoes with curled up toes. As she suspected, this bard was more jester than story teller. His red beard had obviously been dyed several shades redder than any dwarf could boast. He was a short man with an ample belly, no doubt spending his time feasting and making up falsehoods.

When the laughter died down he continued, lowering his voice nearly to a whisper. The crowd leaned in, straining to hear. "At the beginning of time the Maiar were made. Some say they were created, some say they were born of the Valar. No one knows for sure."

Mythwin knew, but she certainly wasn't going to tell.

"The Maiar were created to spread knowledge throughout Middle Earth." The bard's black eyes seemed to rest on Mythwin as he paused again. Did he know that one of the Maiar was staring back at him? If so, he hid it well. With a smirk he continued. "One of the Maiar named Mairon worked long years with Aule the Valar blacksmith. There he learned from Aule all that the God could teach him. They say Mairon was dedicated to order and was once good. The truth is," the bard paused again, letting the crowd's anticipation build.

"The truth is," he paused again. This time longer.

"What is the truth?" A man near the fire bellowed, clearly speaking for the rapt audience. The bard just chuckled, he had the crowd right where he wanted them.

"The truth is, Aule kicked him from the forge because he was too thick to make a nail!" the bard cried in a loud voice. The crowd roared in laughter, clearly not caring whether it was a lie or not. Mythwin snorted in disgust, shutting out the crowd and the bard as he continued to spin his web of lies about Sauron the Great. Mairon the Magnificent. Mythwin knew the truth. She was there. Mairon had tried to convince Aule of the error of turning Middle Earth over to the lesser creatures, of allowing disorder and chaos among the creations of the Valar. It wasn't until Melkor appeared that Mairon found his true calling, to stand by his master's side as he destroyed their creations of chaos and brought true order to the world.

They spoke of Sauron as if he was evil. They were the creatures of disorder. The world had rejected Sauron's message of harmony and instead embraced chaos. And now he was dead and Mythwin was forced to stand among his conquerors, listening to the fool of a bard distort history. "His end will not be swift," Mythwin vowed to herself.

"Er, what?" a plump woman asked beside her. Mythwin hadn't realized that she had spoken aloud.

"I said his end was too swift," Mythwin replied. Turning to leave.

"Yes, they should have made Sauron suffer." The woman's pig like eyes squinted at Mythwin. She slowly turned back to the woman, considering her next actions very carefully. She took a step back and stopped not less than a pace from the woman.

"I am not sure I heard you correctly," Mythwin said, giving the woman a chance. The bard's voice rose in a crescendo, the crowd gasped. The woman, distracted and clearly annoyed at having missed the big moment, turned her back on Mythwin and her attention back to the bard. Mythwin closed the space between them. She was near enough to smell the fetid odor of the woman's sweat. She could snap the woman's fat neck right there if she wanted, but if she did, all chances of revenge would be gone. There were too many for even her to fight and even if she did escape, once alerted, her chance of getting close to the children would be gone.

Mythwin backed away from the crowd and the woman, her hands trembling at her sides. If she was quick, perhaps no one would notice. She stopped, watching the woman's back. The crowd suddenly roared in laughter. Mythwin breathed a long sigh, letting out a deep breath to control the rage roiling inside her. With great effort she finally turned away from the fire, away from the yammering bard and away from the fat woman who had nearly lost her life that night.

Mythwin found an unused tent to set up shop, resting her body for the coming day ahead. Word had reached camp that the king would be returning the next evening. Preparations were already being made, servants working through the night to celebrate the victors. To celebrate the murder of her love. Mythwin tried to keep the rage at bay,, but it came all the same. She kept her eyes open, resting the way the elves did without actual slumber. It was she who had taught them the trick.

She didn't dare close her eyes, for if she did she only saw the tower falling, the great eye of Sauron in agony as he fell to his destruction. It still seemed impossible. Mythwin felt a need, pulsing in her veins like lifeblood. She must strike out that very moment or end her life. She cared not which. She sat up, determined to fight her way through camp if necessary to find the little toads who had done the unthinkable.

Mythwin sprang from her bed, her sword hilt gripped tightly. She knew she was being rash, but it didn't matter. She would kill the children or die trying. The need within her pulsed all the harder. Mythwin gritted her teeth, pulling her beloved sword from its scabbard. The smell of oil mixed with steel, drawing to mind the many times she had used her weapon to end the life of a foe. She did not murder without cause like the filthy orcs Sauron employed. She only killed when there was good reason. The fact that there was usually a good reason to kill wasn't her fault.

Mythwin stepped from her tent, prepared for an onslaught of soldiers rushing to thwart her designs, but the camp was nearly empty. Most everyone had enjoyed the celebrations a little too heartily that day. Ignorantly thinking that danger had died with Sauron. Mythwin cried out a challenge, wanting the battle to start, but she was only met with a few stares from servants scurrying back and forth. No doubt they thought she had enjoyed a few too many pulls of dwarvish ale.

The night sky was clear, the moon shining brightly in the third day of its cycle, lighting the camp in silver. Mythwin waited, holding her sword high, but even the servants were soon out of sight. She thought briefly of moving from tent to tent, slaying them in their drunkenness, but it would take her days to slay them all and would not sate her need for revenge. Her sword would taste blood again that night though, or another would taste hers.

Mythwin moved with purpose, making her way toward the large pavilion in the center of camp. The place where they had taken the younglings to heal. Word had spread through camp that one of the children had awoken already but would not leave the other's side. She hoped it was so, it would be better to end them together.

Now less than a few hundred feet from her goal Mythwin found a distinct change. Here the guards weren't so lax. Roving bands of soldiers patrolled, on alert, waiting, keeping watch for danger even in victory. She almost admired them. Her anger wasn't spent, but it had cooled enough to teach her the folly of throwing her life away in a rush. She would die before catching sight of the children if she stayed her course.

Mythwin sheathed her sword and crept between patrols to a small tent ringing the large pavilion. The children were now just steps away, but those steps would be noticed by dozens if not hundreds of men. She would be taken and questioned and it would all be over. The sound of feet filled the air, coming from both in front and behind. A moment of panic overtook her, not fear, never that, but panic that she would be found out before her deed was done.

Mythwin took the only route available and slipped inside the small tent just as the patrols came in sight. She could only hope the darkness had concealed her. The darkness was ever her friend before, she would have to trust it this night.

Letting her eyes adjust to the darkness inside the tent, Mythwin focused on her other senses. Someone slept nearby, their gentle snores indicated that she had not been noticed yet. The tent smelled of animal skins and mud, much like the rest of camp. But there was another smell, oddly familiar. She breathed in deeply, plucking that odor from the many that assaulted her nose.

It was familiar but recent. Her eyes now adjusted, Mythwin took a step toward the sleeping figure, the smell growing with each step. The sleeper had her back to Mythwin but as she approached recognition dawned suddenly and Mythwin gasped. It was the fat woman from the campfire.

"Thank you," Mythwin whispered, knowing that somewhere her Mairon still watched over her. It had to have been him that allowed this.

Mythwin took a step, then another, bringing her closer to the sleeping woman who had no idea her pathetic life was about to end. Mythwin drew her sword and stopped, considering the method she would use to dispatch of the woman. She wanted so badly to plunge her blade somewhere that would cause a slow, agonizing end, but if she did that, her prey would have time to scream. The investigation might not discover Mythwin, but it would signal a killer in their midst and their guard would go up even further. The children were her real mission. The woman just a morsel to allay her need.

Mythwin sheathed her sword, sliding it in slowly to keep the sound to a minimum. One more step brought her bedside. Mythwin leaned over, placing her hand over the woman's mouth and put her other arm around the woman's neck. The fat creature awoke with a muffled cry and began to thrash and flail her arms in an attempt to fight off her attacker. Mythwin was surprised at the strength of the woman. She would have thought her all bulge and lard.

"It is better to kill slowly, isn't it," she whispered as the woman thrashed all the more, trying to draw a breath that wouldn't come. Mythwin held her tight, savoring the moment as she felt the strength and then the life ebb from the large woman. The pulsing in Mythwin's veins slowed, allowing her a brief respite from the need that had driven her heedlessly into the center of camp. She smiled as she placed the limp form back on the bed, drawing the covers up over her to make it look like she had died in her sleep.

With a smile of satiety, Mythwin crept from the tent, satisfied to wait a little longer before exacting her true revenge on the children sleeping just a few steps away.


	4. Chapter 4

**Okay this is where things start to pick up. Mythwin gets to see a hobbit close-up and of course Aragorn, king of Gondor. hope you like it.**

Mythwin awoke the next morning in her borrowed tent, waiting for the sounds of guards conducting inquiries, the sounds of horror in the camp that there was a murderer among them, but all she heard was regular people having regular conversations. As she dressed she listened in.

"They say the king will be here late this morning," a woman's high pitched voice squeaked with excitement. "And the Prince of Dol Amroth and of course King Eomer with him." The woman's voice faded as her and whoever was with her walked away.

Mythwin laced her boots, listening in as another couple drew close enough to for her to eavesdrop. "They say one of the halflings nearly died at the battle." A deep voice boomed just outside the flap of her tent. Mythwin left her other boot unlaced, rushing to the door of her tent.

"What do you know of the halflings?" Mythwin asked, not even waiting to see who she was talking to. The bearded man was dressed in the garb of a soldier of Gondor. His shock at her rudeness quickly abated.

"Well they are from a far off country in the north." The man began, spending a little too much time eyeing her bosom. "The king brought their princes to battle with the dark lord himself they say."

Several passersby stopped to listen as the man continued. "They have some special magic that makes them stronger than three full-sized men or so I've heard." The bearded man smiled, enjoying the rapt attention of the gathering audience. "Why, one of them strolled right up and slew a troll in the final battle they say, and another killed the witch-king on the fields of Pelennor."

"I've heard that the injured one killed Sauron himself," A woman in the crowd added. "He is a bit worse for it, but they say he will heal in time."

"Huzzah to the halfling princes!" the guard shouted, raising his hands high. The crowd joined him and soon Mythwin found herself cheering along to keep up pretenses. She tried to smile but could only clench her jaw to keep from murdering every last one of them.

"In time," she told herself, calming.

"Freylong is dead!" a woman shouted breathily, running up from the center of camp. Gasps and cries of dismay sounded all around her. Mythwin kept her face passive, she didn't even try to muster the shock of those around her. She knew this was coming, she could only hope that the murder couldn't be linked to her.

"How did it happen?" the bearded guard asked, his voice rising above the inquiries of the rest of the crowd.

"They found her in her tent this morning," the woman said, still trying to catch her breath. "The healer said she probably died of grief over the loss of her brother on the fields of Pelennor. Mourn for Lossarnach, first Forlong and now this. They have given all to the cause of free men." The woman ran away, her grief getting the better of her. The crowd murmured a moment longer before beginning to disperse.

Soon only Mythwin remained, digesting everything she had just learned. The death of Freylong was regrettable, not because she felt any remorse, but it was an unnecessary risk that really brought no advantage other than to sate her lust for revenge.

The rest of the morning brought no new information for Mythwin even though she spent it among the crowds chattering excitedly about the return of the king. Freylong's death had long ago been forgotten, they had lost too many of their ranks in the past weeks to mourn overmuch for the passing of one more.

As she sat in the shade with a crowd of guards eating a mincepie, Mythwin noticed a crowd of people running. The camp was located on an old road and it was to this spot people began to line up.

"Come on lads or we won't get a good look at him." a young guard said, replacing his helm as he ran to join the crowd. One by one the others scurried away leaving Mythwin and her mincepie alone under the tree. She knew she should have kept up the pretense and ran along with them, but she just couldn't look at the king and his victorious army. The army that had thrown down the black gate, scattered the armies of Mordor and taken everything from her. How could she feign even a counterfeit cheer for such men?

"You're going to miss it!" A woman yelled to Mythwin as she sprinted by, throwing all propriety to the wind. With a sigh Mythwin stood and walked slowly to the gathering crowd. She would have to change or she would never reach her goals. In her mind Mythwin thought of what she would have to become to realize the culmination of her plans. She would have to be the opposite of what she was now. She would have to be a devoted, lovely, caring wisp of a woman with seemingly no joy for anything beyond her next suitor. The thought nearly made her wretch. But Mythwin had done it before, she could do it again.

As she stood at the back of the crowd, a horn sounded far off down the road. An excited murmur spread through the people. A feeling of anticipation swept through young and old alike. The victor approached, the ragged ranger from the north, their king. Mythwin couldn't keep the sneer from her face. Soon the frontguard came in sight. Banners rippling in the breeze, the guards of Gondor led the way. Their silver armor gleaming, footmen came first, then cavalry. The crowd cheered as the frontmen walked into camp, their expressions stoic, their heads held high. She had seen parades like this countless times. She had lead parades like this, riding high on horse, the crowds crying their adulation. There was a part of her that remembered feeling pride, enjoyment, even a measure of happiness. But that part of her lay long buried. She wanted nothing of adulation now. She wanted only fear and respect, but mostly fear.

She had learned at Sauron's side that fear motivated far more effectively than free will. Command a soldier to give his life for victory and perhaps some may choose to obey, but if they fear disobedience worse than death?

Mythwin watched as the foot soldiers marched by, followed by many men on horseback led by a golden haired man holding his sword across his lap. "Eomer," she heard people crying excitedly. The man gave no acknowledgement of his name or indeed the crowd at all. Mythwin watched him closely. The horse lord who had succeeded their dead king. It was the charge of the Rohirrim that had held off the forces of Mordor long enough for the king to arrive on the ships of Umbar and turn the tide of battle. If not for the horse lords, the king would have arrived with his fleet and found the city overrun, with no living being there to acknowledge him.

She silently added king Eomer to her list, marking his face so she would never forget it. The horsemen would pay for what they had done. She would make sure of it to her dying breath.

The Prince of Dol Amroth and the sons of Elrond came next, standing out with their elvish features and the awful light they emanated. It was like looking at Gandalf all over again but this light was older, not as bright but in a way more piercing. How she hated elves!

Before the elves had passed a cry went up, "The king!" people repeated up and down the line. The volume of cheers rose higher. Stragglers from around camp ran from tents, the guards abandoned their posts. The entire camp crushed in around the parade, waiting for the man they would call king.

Mythwin shoved aside a tall man who had taken to jumping up and down to better see the procession. With the bothersome man out of the way she saw him. A bearded man riding calmly on a ragged grey steed. Next to him on single horse a golden haired elf and clinging as if his life depended it, a stout dwarf directly behind him. On the other side of the king was a sight that caused Mythwin to push her way forward, not caring about the indignant looks of the crowd around her. Mythwin fought her way to the very front just as the small pony rode by carrying a halfling prince. His head was wrapped with a bandage from his battle with the troll, but other than that his bright eyes and the wonderment on his face said he was utterly enjoying the attention. This halfling was taller than the other two, but he was clearly their kin.

She watched him closely as he sauntered by, trying to discern what was so special about these creatures. With curly hair and bare feet, despite his Gondorian armor, he looked out of place.

With her attention on the halfling, Mythwin didn't even notice the king or the odd look on his face when he saw her. She didn't notice the signal he gave to his guards or even the jostling of the crowd as she was surrounded. She did notice when he dropped from his horse and approached her, his hands on the sword of Elendil as his stern gaze took her in.

"How delightful of you to join us, Mythwin," he said as his guards rushed in to disarm her. "Please join me for dinner."


	5. Chapter 5

**This is a little shorter but shows the confrontation and more of a look at Mythwin and her origin. Hope you like it!**

"Kneel before the king of Gondor!" a crude and rather pathetic-looking guard demanded as Mythwin was forced to her knees in front of a crude chair set up in the main tent. Dozens of leaders gathered around her dressed in the garb of their homelands: Imrahil from Dol Amroth, Eomer, the new king of the Rohirrim louts, the dwarf, the elf and of course the accursed Gandalf. Mithrandir he was called in elvish, but she remembered his true name, Olorin. She remembered him under the tutelage of Manwe, Varda and Irmo. She remembered his fear. He wanted no part of conflict with Sauron. It was Varda who had insisted he be sent to overcome his fear. Mythwin suspected all along the real reason for Olorin's mission, pride. He craved the adoration of the lesser creatures and judging by the adoring looks of all present, he finally had it. Mythwin wanted to expose him for his cowardice, but in so doing she would only expose herself. Mythwin simply remained silent, taking in the entire scene so she would remember their names, their faces. Her revenge would be all the sweeter.

"Help her to her feet," Aragorn spoke, studying her as she studied him. He had recently returned from battle, that was obvious. His face, which was already weathered and rough had been scratched and cracked by the scorching sun. He feigned wisdom, yet he was only a child of men. How wise could he be?

Guards rushed to her sides, helping her rise to her feet. She didn't fight them. Mythwin knew her mission was fraught with danger, her success balancing as it were on the edge of a knife.

"Tell us what has brought you to our camp Mistress," Aragorn said, appearing to offer the proper respect. Mythwin stifled a hiss, knowing her words would either save or condemn her at that moment. She needed to be patient, she needed to be wise. Truth would be easier than deceit she decided, making up lies was tougher, even for her.

"I have come among you to see those who have vanquished my master," She offered which was at least true, if not wholly so.

"So you were curious and nothing more?" Aragorn answered with raised brows. A chorus of murmurs cascaded over Mythwin, the crowd clearly didn't believe her. From the look on Aragron's face, neither did he.

"I would think that after watching your master fall, this is the last place you would want to be." Aragorn rubbed the stubble on his face. He looked exhausted, the frailties of men showing once again. "Unless you were perhaps seeking revenge."

"How could I hope to have any chance of revenge among an armed camp of so many and me just by myself. I assure you, if that were my plan, I would have had almost no chance of success." Mythwin responded with again truth. She did have almost no hope of success, but that had not deterred her. "May I ask how you knew my name?" She asked the question that had been burning in her mind since her capture.

"I remember you from my time as a young lad," Aragorn answered. "I believe it was in the year 2959 while I was serving undercover as a scout of Gondor. While watching over the city of Minas Morgul a rider landed on the road not thirty feet from where I lay hid. I had only seen beauty that rivaled yours in one other. You walked the last few hundred feet into Minas Morgul I never caught sight of you again although it wasn't for lack of trying." Aragorn's eyes were in a daze as he retold his story. Mythwin could tell he was reliving his tale as if really there.

"And how did you come by my name?" she asked, goading his story along. It didn't really matter now, but she wanted to keep him talking.

"An orc," Aragorn said, blinking his eyes to snap out of his trance. "I captured an orc and with a little persuasion he told me of the dark mistress Mythwin, who had been with Sauron since the beginning. That is all I could get out of him. He seemed more afraid of saying your name than Saurons. That intrigued me."

Mythwin smiled, not seductively, but with as much warmth as she could conjure. Perhaps if she appealed to Aragorn's baser qualities, she might yet succeed. "The orc gave me too much credit." She said, her voice dripping with innocence and humility. "I was but an advisor to Sauron from a far off land, taken at an early age with no choice given in the matter."

"No choice Alura" Gandalf burst into laughter, taking note of Mythwin's ever widening eyes. "Yes, I know your true name Mythwin," he continued. Sitting there at Aule's forge as Mairon grew in power and darkness while you did nothing. If the Valar had known of his growing treachery, millions of lives and dozens of kingdoms of Middle Earth would still be alive. You could have changed the course of history Alura, yet you stood aside and watched the destruction."

Mythwin couldn't hide the sneer from her face now. She made a leap for Gandalf but the guards restrained her, although it did take four. "You are responsible for every sin of Sauron, the pain, the loss, the death. It is all upon your head Alura." Gandalf approached her slowly, letting his glory fill the room. "What restitution could you make that would hide your deeds Alura?"

"I want no restitution Olorin," Mythwin screamed, "I want only to be reunited with my love for eternity. Send me there now and I will not resist. Take your blade Olorin, strike me down this moment." Mythwin fell to her knees, pleading before the white wizard.

Gandalf's hand went to his sword, he was clearly considering ender her right then. "Nay Gandalf," Aragorn's voice pierced the room, a sudden reminder that she and Gandalf were not alone. "To end her life would be a mercy and perhaps it is a decision I will have to make at some future moment, but I wish her to live. Live, to see the utter destruction of Sauron's empire. She will be present to see all that all of Sauron's plans are laid to waste. Men will live in peace, utter peace and harmony with each other and nature around them. I can think of no greater sentence that could be carried out."

Mythwin screamed again, "End me now!" But Aragorn was already gone, leaving the tent to attend to matters more important than her. Mythwin panted, watching the crowd begin to disperse. After some time only the four guards and Gandalf remained. He still had his hand on his sword, considering her request.

Tears began to stream down her cheeks. The frustration and loss of the last days began to take hold of her. Anguish like she had never before experienced in two thousand years. She wanted to die, and they would not allow it. Gandalf came to her then, lifting her chin to look into his blue eyes. "Please," she whispered.

"No Alura," Gandalf replied. "As usual, the king is right. Perhaps if you witness the fruit of our resistance to Sauron, you will understand why we fought so hard and gave up so much to defeat him. Perhaps you will even find, in time, remorse for your actions. I do not hope for it overmuch, but nonetheless I will hope for it all the same. Give up your hate Alura, It does not belong in the new age."


End file.
